Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(97)

“I’ll point out we are.”

“We are because she’s dead, and even then no investigator would have looked except Morris knew she’d changed her face, her body, and that’s a flag.

“Larinda Mars was born Lari Jane Mercury.” Eve gestured at the screen. “You were wrong. You ought to admit when you’re wrong.”

“I hate to be wrong. And I wasn’t. You were just, in this case, more right.”

Eve let out a laugh. “That actually works.”

Peabody and Elsie came back with tubes of juice and soft drinks. Elsie gaped, then did a quick dance. “You hit.”

“You hit,” Eve corrected. “I’m impressed with your personal sensibilities.”

“Regardless of this result, we’ll continue the facial analysis and restructuring,” DeWinter insisted.

“Knock yourself out.” Eve shrugged.

“The investigation—and the family—deserve thoroughness and accuracy.”

This time Eve nodded. “Now you’re more right than wrong. I’ll update when you’re finished and satisfied. Smart work,” Eve commended, studying the images. “Slick, smart work.”

“Science,” DeWinter corrected, but smiled with it. “Slick, smart science.” Then surprised Eve by grinning at Elsie. “And superb sensibilities.”

“Sold. Can you get me a couple of hard copies and a disc copy?”

Elsie all but rubbed her hands together. “You bet.”

Eve cracked the tube, studied the face of the child. “Okay, Lari Jane, let’s find out what the fuck, and see if it helps tell us who killed Larinda. Thanks.” She took the hard copies and the disc. “Let’s go, Peabody. We have a really strange notification to deal with.”

She moved fast, down the steps, through the labyrinth of the lab. “Quick run on the parents’ current status.”

“Working it. It pretty much slaps down any theory about poverty or street time. James Mercury,” Peabody read off her PPC as they worked their way out. “Dr. Mercury—private practice pediatrician, still practicing after more than fifty years. Marilee Mercury, coowner of Kansas Gardens, a nursery and landscaping company—owns it with her sister, and has for thirty-seven years.”

When she settled in the car, Peabody took a large gulp from her cherry fizzy—diet—then continued, “They own their own home—outright now—and have lived in it for about forty-five years. The other daughter, Clara, age thirty-nine, owns a twenty-two-acre farm with her husband of eleven years. Two children, one of each kind. The family comes off solid upper middle class, financially solvent, community active, and rooted.”

“Look for smears. Idyllic often has a dark underbelly.”

“Poking there, but I’m not getting one. Both parents have received kudos and awards in their respective professions. Both volunteer time and services for a local kids’ camp.”

“Death notice or missing persons on Lari Jane Mercury.”

Eve pulled into Central’s garage.

“Did that. Zip.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to the parents. See if you can hook me up with Mira for a quick consult.” Eve sat a moment in her parking slot. “We know who and what she was when she died. We’ll fill in who she was before. Maybe the combo helps us work through what’s going to be a bitch of a suspect list.”





20

After considerable time spent on a ’link conference with the next of kin, Eve worked to organize her thoughts on the way to Mira.

At least Mira’s dragon of an admin gestured her straight in.

Mira sat at her desk, likely writing up some report, and held up a finger to signal she needed another moment.

She wore her rich brown hair soft around her pretty face. A suit with small gold buttons marching to the throat showed off her trim build while the strong blue brought out the softer blue of her eyes. High thin heels, watercolor swirls of blues, showed off excellent legs.

She looked female and as fashionable as any of the ladies who lunched in the most trendy bistros of Manhattan. And had the sharpest mind and steeliest spine of anyone Eve knew.

“Sorry.” Mira swiveled in her chair to face Eve. “Busy day.”

“I appreciate you fitting me in.”

“Never a problem. Tea?” she offered as she rose.

“No, really, I just had a hit. I won’t keep you long.”

Mira rose, moved to one of her two blue scoop chairs. “Larinda Mars,” she said as she sat and gestured for Eve to join her.

“Or Lari Jane Mercury. We’ve ID’d her birth name, her family, gotten background.”

“That should be helpful.”

“I think.” Eve sat. “DeWinter and her team were able to put together a sketch, and we hit on facial recognition. She’d scrubbed the ID back to the age of twelve. It’s a costly process, and I imagine she figured she’d spent enough. And with Roarke’s help we were able to locate a building she owned under the name Angela Terra.”

“Sticking to planetary names.”

“Yeah. Duplex, upscale neighborhood. She owns the whole building and rents the one side out through an agency that caters to short-term tenants. One night to one year. Vacationers, business travelers, like that. Her side? Loaded with things. Furniture, dust catchers, unpacked boxes of more things. It’s going to take weeks to catalog. In her office we found a series of books she’d put together, photos and data—with some personal notes—on people she considered possible marks or who became marks. While I’d say the things in her place were stuffed in there without much thought, the data—in the books and on her comp—that’s meticulously organized.”